


Healthy professional relationship

by bobadeluxe



Series: The Business of Pleasure [1]
Category: Fortnite (Video Game)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Begging, Boss/Employee Relationship, Choking, Dom/sub Undertones, Drunkenness, Dry Humping, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Finger Sucking, Foot Jobs, Gloves, Intercrural Sex, Locked In, M/M, Mild Painplay, Mild S&M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Power Imbalance, Praise Kink, Pre-Canon, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:35:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22939534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobadeluxe/pseuds/bobadeluxe
Summary: Midas and Brutus locked themselves into a vault. Things escalated.
Relationships: Brutus (Fortnite)/Midas (Fortnite)
Series: The Business of Pleasure [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1734541
Comments: 42
Kudos: 150





	1. Chapter 1

It was supposed to be a simple security check. They follow this routine once every week; Brutus would lead him along the patrol route, stopping by every checkpoint, until they end up in the designated vault. It usually takes no longer than fifteen minutes, perhaps twenty if Midas deems anything less than satisfactory, which doesn't happen often. This time however everything was going well. Every henchman performed their tasks admirably, no one was missing from their post, every equipment and security measure were all accounted for. He even had the thought to leave early. That is, until they locked themselves into the vault.

It was such a rookie mistake that Midas didn't process what actually  _ happened _ until he heard the heavy machinations locked into place. The titanium door closed behind them, as it is supposed to do automatically after being left opened and unattended for a determined amount of time. Midas installed that failsafe himself. Yet he had completely overlooked the door closing in, being far too carried away by a conversation with his trusted bodyguard. It wasn't even a particularly engaging conversation, really. Why was he so.. distracted?

Realizing what had just happened, Brutus now stares at the vault door in shock. His sunglasses fall down from the bridge of his nose and his mouth opens wide enough to catch flies. He almost looks.. sheepish. Uncharacteristically so. His cheeks flush with the barest tint of pink. Midas doesn't blame him; it is an astonishingly ridiculous situation. He supposes mistakes happen to the best of us, including professionals of their calibre.

Clearing his throat, Brutus turns to Midas. "Apologies, sir. This should not have happened."

"It's fine. I was careless as well," Midas dismisses his apology. 

They should be alright, anyway. Their team should notice that they are missing. If not, at the end of the day there is a schedule inventory check. Someone would find them eventually. There is no way out from the inside, so they have to.. wait. (Note to self: Install an emergency exit of some sort. A secret door connected to the outside, perhaps?) There is neither food nor water contained inside the vault, only state of the art weaponry. The devastating damage output could annihilate an entire island and then some, yet they lack the firepower to blast through the door. The irony of the situation does not escape Midas. Why, it feels like the universe is trying to teach him a lesson even. He pointedly ignores the universe. The human body could survive without nourishment for many days.

Suddenly Brutus breaks the silence with a strange remark, "You would survive in a stranded situation."

That's true. Midas could be quite resourceful if needed. He wonders why Brutus would say that, though. "Pardon?" He asks.

Brutus hesitates for a second, but then answers: "If the survivors resort to cannibalism, they could not eat you. I have thought about this."

Midas bursts out laughing. He couldn't help it. Brutus doesn't seem to understand what is so amusing about what he just said, and frowns at Midas.

"I am not made out of solid gold inside and out, you know," He says after his laughter finally dies down.

"I am aware, but it would require tools and/or fuel to cut you open. In a stranded situation your resources are scarce. It's simply not worth it. It would be more sustainable in the long run if we eat Meowscles. The moral hang-up of eating cats is not as severe as cannibalism, so most people would be willing to eat him. His meat would last longer too, if preserved properly."

"No!" Midas gasps, and puts one hand on his chest in pretend horror. "You wouldn't! Poor Meowscles."

Brutus is as stone-faced as ever. "I would without hesitation. Like I said, I have thought about this."

Midas barely suppresses his second burst of laughter. "Do you think of butchering me on a stranded island often?"

Brutus huffs defensively, "We  _ are _ on a stranded island."

"Well, yes, but still.."

"My job is not only to protect you against harm. It's also preventing harm from coming to you. I need to have a plan for every situation, if the need should arise."

Midas raises one eyebrow at him.  _ Really. _

Brutus sighs. "That, and I like lost-at-sea movies."

"What's your favorite?" Midas asks with a satisfied grin.

"All is Lost. No dialogue. Terrific performance."

It's funny - They have known each other for a long time, but they haven't had a chance to talk like this often. They  _ have _ to be locked inside a vault together for a quality one-on-one time. Business tends to get in the way of pleasure.

Midas finds a comfortable seat to sit on, which happens to be a protective crate containing a multi-million mythic weapon. Brutus insists on standing, the most comfortable he gets is leaning on the wall. Apparently, it's what he prefers. They chat about various subjects of no significance to pass the time, which is a nice change of pace from their business meetings and mission briefings. Midas talks about cruise ships and maritime laws, which couldn't possibly be exciting, but Brutus listens to him with rapt attention. Brutus turns out to have a very strong opinion about tropical fruits, and an extremely obscure taste in music. What surprises him the most is that he  _ likes  _ talking to Brutus. He's not running his mouth because he's bored. He's not making conversation out of some social obligation to fill the silence and pass the time. He genuinely enjoys engaging with the brutish man. The conversation was going swimmingly, until Midas decided that he would like to sample the taste of his foot.

"Are you married, Brutus?"

Damnit. Why oh  _ why  _ did he ask that? It's important that they maintain a healthy, professional relationship. In their line of work, this sort of question doesn't normally bode well. It's invasive at best, threatening at worst. He was just.. curious.

Bad habit of his.

Brutus seems taken aback. For a second Midas thought he was going to dismiss the question or at least deflect it. Which would've been perfectly reasonable. Brutus surprises him by answering.

"No, I'm not. I have never been married." He is not lying. Midas could tell.

"No partner waiting for you back home?"

"No," Brutus reaffirms again. "I'm not interested in anyone."

"Right now or ever?"  _ Stop it. Stop asking. _

Brutus licks his lips, "No, sorry. I meant - I  _ wasn't _ interested in anyone. Before."

"Oh."

Midas doesn't know what else to say. 

Then the table was turned on him. "The same couldn't be said with you, could it?"

Midas startles, "What?"

"Your.. visitors," Brutus says, voice low. He seems unsure now that he had seen Midas' reaction. "The ones that come and go into your yacht. The.. private meetings late at night when you think no one notices."

Midas wishes he could turn into gold right now. His skin is so pale, there's no way to hide how dark he flushes. His neck must be turning red. Of course Brutus notices.

"They are potential recruits," Midas mumbles. He feels like he's confessing a crime. "Nothing ever happened. I am married to my work, the same as you."

Brutus curses, "Fuck. Shit."

"Brutus?"

"I apologize." Brutus takes off his sunglasses to rub at his eyes. They are warm - surprisingly so. A light shade of brown that glows amber under the fluorescent light. Midas' breath hitches in his throat. "I didn't mean to make assumptions. It's just that.. no, there's no excuse. I won't pry into your personal matters again, sir."

"No, no,  _ no _ , it's fine," Midas says. His voice comes off more desperate than he is comfortable with. High and needy. It almost sounds like he's pleading, which is not far from the truth. He needs to know. "We are just getting to know each other. There bound to be.. uncomfortable questions here and there, no?"

"I suppose," Brutus reluctantly agrees.

"So, what was it?"

"Is it hot in here?" Brutus changes the subject and begins to undo his ties. There's a newfound desperation in the way his gloved hands yank and tucks at the knot. He couldn't get it off fast enough.

To answer the question.. No, it's not. There's a ventilation system to make sure every weapon is stored in here under proper temperature. It's a bit chilly even. That doesn't stop Brutus from unbuttoning his shirt though, after he let the ties fall from his neck. Silken smooth fabric slowly slips away with ease. Midas squirms in his seat, he couldn't really sit still what with the way Brutus is exposing himself. If this is how he de-escalate situations, then he is doing a poor job of it. Midas is more bothered than ever before, flustered at the hint of bare skin in front of him. Brutus is far bigger than him. He stands tall, shoulders stretch wide and muscular. His chest is large, and from what Midas could see - shaved smooth, gleaming with a thin layer of sweat. Midas could make out a trail of ink curling around his pectorals, a continuation of the tattoos at the back of his head perhaps. It's hot.

Midas slowly lets his legs fall down, and spreads them apart. He reaches both hands behind him and leans back, down,  _ low _ . Brutus' gaze is following his every move. Gods. Disregard his earlier thought. He wants this. He's greedy for it. Professionalism be damned

"You didn't answer me, Brutus." Midas whispers. It feels good to crawl under someone's skin. Seeing the effect he has on the big, brutish Brutus is doing wonderful things to him. The rush of power is intoxicating.

Brutus swallows audibly, "Right. What was the question, sir?"

Midas craned his neck. "Tell me, do I look like the type to sleep around for you?"

_ Oh _ , the way Brutus panics. He practically stumbles over himself to explain. It's a highly arousing sight.

"No, sir. I meant no disrespect - "

"Are you attracted to me, Brutus?" That shut Brutus up immediately. His ramblings stopped, and now there's only an intense silence between them. "Don't lie now, you have the obligation to be honest to me. Do you want to fuck me? If I bend over this crate right now, what would you do?"

He doesn't do that, obviously. That's not how he does..  _ things. _ Midas just wants to see how Brutus reacts to his advances. It's all games to him. He takes cruel pleasure in toying with those unfortunate enough to be attracted to him. And oh Brutus is attracted to him, alright. His eyes tell it all. He's blushing so bad it looks like he just ran a marathon. Poor, poor Brutus. He has a horrid taste in men.

"Yes, sir. I am attracted to you," Brutus finally confesses. One question out of four. if this was an exam he'd be failing spectacularly.

"Good soldier," Midas praises him. His voice honeyed and hot like molten gold. "It must have been torture for you, imagining me getting up to no good with my  _ nightly visitors _ . The walls are thin, you know. You should've heard something If I was whoring myself out on my yacht. You  _ could've  _ seen something. But you never take a look, did you?"

"No, sir." Brutus seems uncertain if he made the right choice. One one hand, he looks proud that he behaved like a good, proper bodyguard. Strictly professional. On the other hand, Midas was making it sound like it was such a pathetic thing to do. Being too caught up in his filthy fantasies about his employer he didn't even bother to just  _ check _ .

"The feeling is mutual by the way," Midas says and kicks his shoes off. "If you have said something, I would've let you fuck me a long time ago."

That isn't necessarily true, but it doesn't matter. It is purely rhetorical. Midas doesn't wait for an answer, instead he stretches his leg and raises it up high, placing his foot right on Brutus' crotch. The bodyguard startles, but holds still in place. As obedient as ever. He starts to drag his foot up and down, slowly rubbing Brutus' erection through the fabric. The friction between socks and suit pants isn't the most pleasurable sensation there is, but Brutus likes it just fine. His cock is already getting hard, twitching against his foot as Midas spreads his toes to caress his girth. Gods, he is thick, and he's growing bigger. Midas wonders how it would feel inside him.

Wet spots spread in front of his pants as pre-cum soaks through, dampening Midas' socks. He's using both feet now, one rubbing along his length, and another nudging against his balls. He's not particularly into using his feet, but there's an appeal in making someone coming undone, hands free. There's less mess, and he could observe all the ways Brutus is trembling and moaning. He is panting hard, eyes squeezed shut as he tries his hardest not to rut against his employer's feet. He's leaning into Midas, encouraging every drag of his feet, groaning in blissed out haze.

"I'm going to - fuck, I can't -  _ Sir! _ "

Huh. That's disappointingly quick. He must be starved for attention. Oh well.

"Are you going to come, Brutus?" Midas says, mockingly sweet. "Going to come in your pants like a virgin?"

The vault suddenly unlocked.

Midas pulls his feet back and slips into his shoes before Brutus could reach his orgasm. He groans in frustration, knees nearly buckle over from the pent up pleasure getting denied. Luckily for them, the vault door takes half a minute to open due to its weight, offering them plenty of time to regain composure. Once the vault opens up to reveal a grinning TNTina, Midas is sitting with his legs crossed, cool as a cucumber. Brutus looks more or less.. normal, at least there isn't a noticeable erection in his suit pants anymore, poor him. He looks pissed off, and sweaty, but that could be blamed on the vault rather than sexual frustration.

"I can't believe you two losers locked yourself into the vault! What are you - " She halts mid-sentence once she sees Brutus' grim expression. "Whoa! What happened to this guy?"

"Nothing," Brutus huffs. "Move. Get out of the way."

"Hey!" TNTina yelps as Brutus pushes her. He said nothing, stomping away to presumably finish himself off in a toilet somewhere. Oh well. "Rude! This is how you repay your savior?!"

"Don't mind him," Midas says. "Thank you for rescuing us, agent TNTina. We owe you one."

Things are going to be awkward now between them. There's no way to come back from the bridge he just crossed. Midas wonders if it was worth it.

Probably.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

In hindsight, accepting the drink from TNTina isn't the smartest choice he has ever made. Midas has never been 'drunk' before. He indulges every now and then, a celebratory champagne when the occasion calls for, a glass of wine during business dinner, and complimentary cocktail while mingling with the cream of society. Even then he gets _tipsy_ at most, and would always take the side of caution when it comes to alcohol. Self-restraint is key, after all. So black out drunk is not something he's familiar with, let alone being so intoxicated he ends up hugging the toilet all night. One drink was all it takes for him to experience all that and more.. Well, it started with that one drink, anyway. At this point who knows how much he actually had. It's all coming out of him, along with his dinner. What a complete waste of perfectly good food and drinks!

"You are _suchh_ a lightweight!" TNTina laughed with glee. Though for all of her teasing, she's being a surprisingly good sport. Helped him into the stall, rubs his back while he pukes and everything.

"Don't remind me," Midas says and then cringes at his own breath. There's a foul taste in his mouth that just wouldn't go away. Ugh. "I'm never letting you talk me into drinking again."

"Hey, don't blame me! I was being nice, you know. You weren't going to win your new recruits over with that 'Durr hurr I am The Mastermind' attitude. Now that they have seen you dancing like a fucking goof and puking all over yourself, you are a lot more approachable AND likable!"

There's something seriously long about that twisted line of logic. Unfortunately, Midas' brain is too scrambled to form a proper rebuttal. He is just going to have to let TNTina get away with that one. 

TNTina tries to help him up by the armpits, but Midas' limbs wouldn't cooperate. _He_ wouldn't cooperate. If he moves the room is going to spin around again. He could do without the vertigo, thank you very much. He is just going to stay here. The toilet seat makes for a comfortable headrest, and it's the only anchor he has in the whirlwind that is his surroundings. The bathroom floor is pleasantly cold, unlike how warm he is feeling right now.

"Oh, forget it." TNTina lets him fall to the floor. "I'm getting Brutus. Stay here, okay? Don't wander off. Don't fall into the toilet. Definitely don't choke on your vomit and die."

Midas nodded absentmindedly. TNTina probably didn't even see - she had already left.

He must've blacked out again at one point, because when he wakes up, he's not in the bathroom anymore. Instead he's on Brutus' shoulder, being carried like a sack of flour. He makes it look so effortless, as if Midas weighs nothing to him. His feet are hanging off the ground, and Brutus only needs to put one hand on the back of his thigh to keep him in place. It's almost disorientating, but Midas is too distracted by other things to pay attention to his nausea. Like how _firm_ Brutus feels under his belly. He's built with nothing but pure, solid muscles. He smells so good too, like spice and aged cognac. Midas likes it. Likes him.

"'m really glad you came, Brutus," Midas slurred over his words a bit, but he thinks he got his message across.

Or.. apparently not. "It's my job."

"Noo," Midas whined in protest. He feels the urge to squirm around, but Brutus' grip is iron tight. "I meant, to the party. You didn't have to come. I'm glad you did, though."

Brutus doesn't say anything for a while. He just keeps walking. Where are they heading too, anyway?

Then he says, with obvious hesitation, "It wouldn't be polite to decline the invitation."

Midas giggles. "What, you think I would feed you to sharks if you don't come to my party?"

"No, but.. nevermind."

"Brutus?"

He stiffens, "Yes, sir?"

"If you keep me hanging off your shoulder like this, I'm going to puke _alll_ over your suit."

Brutus couldn't let him down fast enough.

He can't really walk by himself, though. So Brutus ends up having to carry him again anyway, but in a different position. There is something comical about the way he fumbles around Midas legs, trying to keep them together in a bridal carry. It's not very comfortable, but at least he's not upside down anymore. Midas leans on Brutus' shoulder, breathing in the soothing cologne. He feels drowsy, and drunk out of his mind, but in a good way. Like floating on clouds. It's such a warm night. 

Brutus carries him to his room which - oh, _duh_ , of course. Where else would he take him? He put Midas down on the bed with a level of gentleness that isn't normally associated with a man of his size. Midas snuggles up against his blankets, rubbing his cheek against the bed sheet. Brutus lifts his head up and places a pillow underneath, presumably to prevent him from choking.

"Excuse me," Brutus says and flips him up. He pulls Midas' shoes off his feet, loosening the ties and buttons around his neck, helping him get comfortable. Midas lets him, pliant under his strong, steady hands. 

Then he starts to leave -

"No, don't go," Midas suddenly sits up. So quick he makes himself lightheaded. It takes a long time for the room to stop spinning. Everything is blurring together and the grip he has around Brutus' wrist is a weak, clumsy thing. 

"I'm getting you water," Brutus tries to explain.

"Are you going to come back?"

"I am."

"Will you stay? After that?"

Brutus bites at his lower lip, nearly chewing it. A nervous habit like that has no place on a face with such strong jaws. He must be terrible at Poker. Midas has half a mind to lecture him.

"If you want," Brutus finally says.

"I want you to stay." _Is he usually this embarrassingly honest?_ "Please."

"Okay," Brutus swallows. Midas' fingers are circling over his pulse. "Yeah, okay, yeah. I can do that. Water first?"

"Uh-huh."

Midas lets him go. 

True to his word, he comes back. Well he can't really say no to Midas now, can he.

Midas blinks. That _is_ a dangerous thought - and a dangerous line he has crossed. Good things rarely come from two people with this level of power imbalance. Ever since that day, everything between Midas and Brutus is hazy, and it's not the alcohol talking. So far, it hasn't affected their working relationship, but Midas couldn't help but feels like he has ruined something precious. He always feels that way every once in a blue moon.

Brutus helps him up and sits down next to him, the mattress dips under his weight. He got Midas a glass of water, with ice and a straw. Said something about rehydration. It's nice. He mindlessly chews on the straw more than sipping the water, but still. It's the thought that counts and all that jazz. 

He is trying to justify it in his head, tracing his mind over the intertwined threads and the intricate knots. They are both awful people who do awful things. Brutus is only complying with him because it is benefiting. Midas genuinely likes him and feels a sense of connection with him, it's not _all_ games. Brutus is physically stronger. Brutus is not so impressionable that he would be pressured into something he doesn't want. They're adults attracted to each other. Et cetera, et cetera. It's not adding up. Nothing is. He's grasping at straws. He can't string any of those excuses together to form anything even remotely resembling a defense.

This is bad. 

"Do you need anything else - "

"You never came to see me."

Brutus turns to him. He's not wearing his sunglasses, though usually he has no qualms with wearing them inside or at night. Midas wonders where it went. It's rare to see his face, especially this close. Brutus has a habit of hiding his face, whether it's his sunglasses or his uniform mask. It's a shame. He is a handsome man. Older than Midas by a few years, but it barely shows. He doesn't look old, he just looks more experienced. His age doesn't reveal in the form if wrinkles or grey hair, what with his head shaved bald and all. Instead it's the way he carries himself, and the gravitas in his voice. Brutus has the calm and composed demeanor that only someone who has weathered storms and came back to tell the tale could have. His eyes, though…

They are horrifyingly honest. Midas can't bare looking at them. He burns.

"You assigned me to The Grotto," Brutus says. It sounds like an accusation.

"It wasn't intentional or anything," Midas pouts. He shifts closer to the bodyguard, their knees touch against each other's. "I need my best lieutenants positioned at every point of interest."

"You kept Meowscles here."

"Are you jealous?" He thought that was a clever jab, but all he got in response was a snigger. Now he feels stupid. "I'm not with him on duty. He lives with me on the yatch, but that is it."

"I assumed you wanted space after what happened. You came onto me, you sent me away, I thought you got bored."

Midas frowns. "You have an awfully low opinion of me."

"You know that I respect you," Brutus argues. There's no heat behind his words, though. In fact, his voice is soft with fondness.

"Not in the way that matters," Midas puts one hand on his thigh. "You respect my empire. My net worth, my resources, and my reach."

"Not in the way that you want, perhaps." Brutus simply lifts Midas' hand up, and places it back on his own thigh. Fair enough. "Is that not enough?"

"You said you were attracted to me - is it merely superficial, then?"

"Yes," Brutus admits. His eyes say that he's telling the truth. "Does that disappoint you?"

Yes.

"No, not at all. It's to be expected. That is just business as usual." 

Midas leans over to put the glass on his nightstand. He misses. It tumbles, and falls out of his hand. He expected it to break but apparently it was plastic, so it just kinda rolls away, leaving a trail of small droplets. Brutus really thought of everything.

He gets off the bed to pick it up. Suddenly, it dawns on him. He's kneeling in front of Brutus. This is the first time he ever looks _up_ to the man. He appears a lot bigger than he is from this angle. It sends chills down Midas' spine. Men in his position never feel small unless someone makes them. Brutus is turning his back to the moonlight. He's cloaked by the night, and his shadow looms over Midas.

This is worse.

Brutus breaks the moment with a question, "Are you okay?"

Midas' golden hand shakes over the glass. "I think so."

Brutus kneels down to pick up the glass, and to help him up. Their eyes met and their hands touched. After being pulled up onto his feet, they are now at eye level, equal, but Brutus is sitting on the bed and it doesn't feel the same somehow. There's static in the air, along with the humidity of a summer night. It's making Midas delirious.

"You are going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow," Brutus says as he helps Midas settle onto the bed again.

"I've never been hungover before," Midas muttered under his breath.

Brutus chuckles at that. A deep, rumbling laugh. Low in his chest. "You're in for a surprise."

He feels tired, like he's about to drift off at any moment. He doesn't, though, because Brutus is still here. Would still be here. At least until sleep claims Midas. They don't talk at all, Midas is too far gone by that point to hold a proper conversation. Then, as his eyelids finally give in, Brutus speaks.

"I don't like your yacht."

Midas keeps his eyes closed as he speaks. "No?"

"It's the sickness of disembarkment. I felt the ground shaking for weeks at The Grotto, and now who knows how long it's going to last."

"Yet you came."

"I did," Brutus doesn't argue. "You never came to see me either, have you considered that?"

"..Oh. Right."

Brutus chuckles again. He doesn't see it, but he hears the bed creaks as Brutus leans in close. Feels the warmth as he places his hand on Midas' hair, gently petting.

"Maybe you can rectify the situation. Preferably during off hours. You know where I'd be."

Does he? It's hard to think.

"Pleasant dream, sir."

Midas dreams of the ocean. He sees the crashing waves, lapping at the coastline. Ever so gentle in its persistence. The eventual erosion will occur at last, for better or for worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um.. so this is a multi chapter fic now i guess djsksjsk thank you for reading!!
> 
> edit: fixed the confusion between pois. i kept thinking that the yacth is the shark and the grotto is the rig lmao. too much The!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe

Brutus' personal quarter is more comfortable than Midas expected. Though admittedly he had very little expectation. It _is_ a maintenance room that has been renovated, after all. The ventilation pipes still take up half of the walls, and once the servers and machinery have been removed, the room is nothing but a series of awkward corners and crevices. Not to mention how bleak The Grotto is - the entire base has been carved out from stone, and the infrastructure was reinforced with steel. The result is a dull, lifeless, monotone underground lair, where there's nothing of note but the cold, cruel surface that turns onyx once escapes sunlight.

Against all odds however, Brutus has managed to turn this place into his own. The room is divided into sections, he puts a mattress down into one corner, and turns the other into an armory. Between them, his garment bags hang neatly on a rack. On one side of the room is his office, with a large desk, primitive-looking computer, and metal drawers. On the opposite end is his personal gym, where there is a large punching bag and weight lifting equipment of all sizes. Everything one would need to maintain their muscles mass. Now that everything has been moved into the room, it is quite cluttered. Shooting targets are placed randomly on the walls, and document files are piling up across the floor. Yet, it doesn't _feel_ cramped. In a way, it reminds Midas of a doll house. Small but comes with all the essentials, and has an undeniable personality about it. There are Brutus' personal touches everywhere - photos in mismatched frames hung up on the walls, the coffee mug drew brown moons onto the desk, trophies commending his early achievements.. his early life. In short, it looks _used_. Lived in. And there is certain authenticity that comes with a state of disarray. 

Midas thinks back to his room on the yacht. The modern arts that he didn't even like, but felt they were something a man of his class should have in possession. The immaculate furniture, trimmed with gold, ordered straight from a catalogue. His room is sanitized, and impeccably organized to the point of uncanny. Everything is by design - quite literally. Whatever he has in his room was put there with intent, measured down to the fine digits to determine their placements. False minimalism. It all meant nothing to him. How lonely his room must feel now after he had been here, feeling the warmth from an unmade bed, the familiar hammer and saw Brutus put down nearby.

Midas kinda broke in here.

Well, _no_ , that implies the usage of tools for breaking and entering. He didn't _break_ anything. Midas has an override code; he lets himself in. Brutus probably doesn't mind. Otherwise, why would he have extended the invitation? He's not off-duty yet, and Midas doesn't want to be caught skulking outside of his room. Rumor is the last thing he needs right now. The.. 'situation' is complicated enough as is without outsiders interfering and being privy to his sex life. (Or the lack thereof.) 

He's sitting on Brutus' makeshift bed, which feels somewhat inappropriate.. _and_ suggestive. He doesn't have a couch in here though, so the alternative is his highly uncomfortable-looking office chair. No, thank you. Wait - could the lack of accommodation be interpreted as unwillingness to welcome guests? Oh. 

Why is he here again?

He's here because… Brutus told him to? That doesn't sound right. The fact that he's already sneaking around like they are having an affair is concerning. They haven't seen each other a lot lately since the party, and he remembers only a few things from that night. He remembers Brutus' cologne, still lingering on his bed sheet after he kept Midas company all night. He remembers.. the invitation, and being _manhandled_.

Midas feels his cheeks burning. He doesn't like _not_ being in control.. or at least he doesn't think that he should. He couldn't stop thinking about it though, and now he's here.

He should probably leave.

As luck would have it, as soon as Midas steps out of the door he walks head first into Brutus. Who just _happens_ to enter the room at the same time. Brutus is a solid brick wall, everything that hits him just bounces out. There wasn’t even a single moment where Midas could collect himself, he immediately fell on his ass.

Brutus looks down to him, the sunglasses slip a bit to reveal the concern in his eyes.

“Are you alright, sir?” He asks.

“I’m fine,” Midas replies. Though he still takes Brutus’ hand as the man offers to help pull him up. As he reaches up, he notices that his entire arm has turned gold.

He pulled back. When did that happen? He didn’t even notice. It happened on instinct… a defensive mechanism, perhaps, against the impact that is Brutus. Still. He should have better control over his power. Speaking of which..

“Are _you_ alright?” Midas turns the question back to him. Unlike the rest of them, Brutus didn’t exactly come equipped with superpower. Just grit, sweat, and years of experience.

“What?”

“You’ve just been hit by a solid gold… statue,” Midas hesitates a bit, not sure which word he should use to describe himself in such a state.

“Huh? Oh. It’s nothing,” Brutus just shrugs.

...Alright, that is a little bit insulting. He could at least pretend to be hurt as a courtesy. 

“I’m glad.” He’s not. Midas stands up by himself, disregarding Brutus’ hand. “I was just about to leave anyway.”

“Okay,” Brutus does not falter. Has he ever? “Did you come here to see me, sir?”

Midas crosses his arms, as if that helps him appear more confident in what he’s about to say. At least turning into gold hides his expression. And all the flushing. “Maybe.”

Brutus frowns, “Is something wrong?”

“No, this is not a business visit.”

“Pleasure, then.”

Midas stares at him like Brutus is the one who just turned into gold, and not him.

“You just… say that,” Midas murmurs. This is a new territory for him. He’s more of a… gloating-and-taunting-as-he-steps-on-his-bodyguard’s-cock figure. Not whatever this is. The stumbling over his own words, the unsure feeling in his chest. Doesn’t make much sense to put yourself in a vulnerable position when you’re literally made out of gold.

Midas is standing in Brutus’ personal space - quite literally in this case - and he’s here on Brutus’ term. It doesn’t quite sit right with him.

“Shouldn’t I?” Brutus pushes his sunglasses back into its place, and now he’s as unreadable as ever. “If this is about what happened in the vault, don’t you think it’s too late to talk about it?”

It is. In fact, it’d be better if they just never acknowledge it. They have moved on already.

But the party brought the memory back.

“You told me that _I_ was the one who avoided you. Sent you off to The Grotto on purpose.”

Brutus blinks. “You remember.”

“I wasn’t _that_ drunk.”

“You were.”

“ _Be that as it may,_ ” Midas coughs. “You told me to rectify the situation. So here I am. Rectifying it.”

Brutus watches him for the longest time. Midas has no idea what he is seeing. Surely, there isn’t much, even his eyes are golden. But there must be something that he saw. Something that he likes. Brutus takes a step forward, effectively pushing Midas into his room as the automatic door closes behind them. Midas, against his better judgement, steps back. Letting his bodyguard corner him until his back hit the uneven surface of the wall. It would’ve been quite uncomfortable, digging into his clothes and skin, but right then there was only a solid _thud_ as gold hit steel. Brutus leans into him, placing one hand beside Midas’ head. The height difference is more obvious than it has ever been. He smells familiar, the same cologne Midas couldn’t stop thinking about. It’s probably dirt cheap, but there’s something about it.

“Okay,” Brutus always speaks so very little. A man of few words, even in a situation like this. “And how are you going to make it up to me, _sir?_ ”

For once, Midas doesn’t know what to say. Is it hot in here? He shouldn’t wear so many layers. WIthout thinking, he reaches up to undo his tie. Brutus catches his wrist before he does so, pushing it into the wall and keeps it there. His fingers circling his pulse, so gently in comparison to the solid weight that is his body, pressing into Midas’ body until he’s trapped. Can he feel his heart beating, underneath all this gold? The way his blood rushes with arousal.

“You toyed with me and then threw me away. I don’t take that lightly.”

Midas squirms. “Well, I didn’t mean to do that - “

“No, but you are not usually so careless.” Is Brutus scolding him? “Not with your mission. Not with the other agents. Is it just me, then? I wasn’t aware that I am dispensable.”

“Every agent is valuable to my cause, of course.” Midas deflects with what sounds like a _whimper_. It doesn’t sound like it came out of him.

“Oh, no. Absolutely not.” Brutus smirks. “You’re going to have to do better than that, sir.”

Brutus’ hands move to Midas’ shoulders and push _down._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait gang, real life has been a total chaos. Also, you notice how each agent 'unlock' reveals their room? We're gonna see Midas' room eventually and it will reduce this chapter into NOTHING. Press F gaymers. thank you for the comments, btw!!!!!! i'm so glad someone reads my fortnite fanfic haha. Sorry I didn't reply to y'all sine I've been real busy, but I read them all and y'all encouraged me to update! Yay!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revenge is dish best served cold.

Midas falls. Hard. His now golden body is heavier than ever, and the sound of his knees hitting against the floor is deafening. As if being put in this position is not embarrassing enough as it is, and he needed another reminder of how the tables have turned. When the mighty fall, they apparently must do so in the most shameful fashion. 

He would roll his eyes, but Brutus wouldn't be able to tell so there's no point to it. Passive aggression is not even an option.

He couldn't see Brutus' eyes from this angle. The sunglasses cover everything, and with how he's being held the only way to look is _up._ Which is not something he particularly wants to do. There wouldn't be much to look at anyway – Brutus' imposing presence (and a much larger body) is casting its shadow across him. Surrounding Midas with an almost pitch black darkness. He's blocking the light source – and the means of escaping. Midas is trapped by every sense of the word.

It is.. highly uncomfortable. He figures that Brutus would let him go if he demands it, but that would be admitting defeat and putting an end to the 'game' they are playing. Whatever this is and wherever this is heading, Midas is determined to see it through.

"You didn't have to push me down," Midas mutters under his breath.

"Oh, but I had to." He's smiling too, the bastard. "You wouldn't kneel for me that easily."

"I would, if you ask nicely enough."

"I'm not asking." One of his gloved hands lifts up from Midas' shoulders, and moves to his face instead, caressing his cheek with a surprising gentleness.

Midas couldn't suppress his shiver. He experiences sensations different in this form than he would've with flesh and blood. It's a distant feeling, like he isn't being touched directly where he should be. His sensory receptors are impaired when he is in this.. condition. He sees Brutus' hand on his cheek, but he feels it everywhere and nowhere at the same time. He couldn't pinpoint it, the tingles across his golden skin, the heat pooling within his body. The arousal.

"Sensitive," Brutus notes. He sounds surprised. "I didn't think you'd still feel anything at all."

Midas frowns. "I'm still a living human being."

"I'm well aware. Good thing, too," He grins at his poor sense of humor. "Open your mouth."

Midas doesn't open his mouth. Obviously. He is not planning to make this easy for Brutus. His bodyguard isn't deterred in the slightest. Must have expected Midas to at least put up a token resistance to save face. He pushes his thumb against Midas' lower lips, pressing against the unyielding flesh. His fingertip rubs across the smooth, golden surface. Midas tries to turn away, but Brutus grabs his jaws with another hand and holds him in place. It's annoying how strong he is. Midas supposed he picked the right man for the job, but still.

This time when he pries Midas' mouth open, he spares none of the earlier gentleness. The pressure under his chin, the fingers pushing between his lips – they don't bother him as much as the act. Being handled without care like some toy offsets whatever pain he might've felt. Midas is his boss, for crying out loud. The rough treatment, which came at the utmost surprise, baffled Midas into complying. He opened his mouth – to complain, to gasp, to stop Brutus, to do.. _something._ There is a purpose to it, not because he gives in to Brutus' demand. No. Though whatever Midas intended to do, he didn't get to follow through. Brutus interrupted him first. Two words that short-circuit his brain.

_"Good boy."_

"N-no," Midas cringes. Did he just stutter? _Him?_ His protests couldn't possibly sound weaker even if he tried. "Don't call me that."

Brutus raises one eyebrow ever so slightly above his sunglasses. "No? You don't like it?"

"I- uh!"

He doesn't get to reply. After observing that Midas doesn't turn gold on the inside, Brutus shoves his thumb right into Midas' mouth. His finger lays flat against his tongue for a second, so Midas tries to speak around it. Only for Brutus to stars moving, no longer pushing, but _fucking_ his mouth. 

"Bru– mmm! B-brutus, I on't – " He is choking too much to speak properly. What's worse, he is _drooling_ , dampening Brutus' white glove until it's dark and wet.

Frustrated, Midas tugs at Brutus' wrist. Wrapping his fingers around it and pulls in reiteration. He isn't successful. Brutus is stronger, and he is too distracted by the digit rubbing on his tongue. Causing him to drool incessantly like some undisciplined dogs because he couldn't close his mouth.

As juvenile as it may be, Midas bites down on Brutus' thumb. Brutus yelps, his movements come to a sudden halt. Midas smirks around the digit..

..but his satisfaction is short-lived. After the initial shock, Brutus _moans_. The harder Midas applies pressure on his finger, the louder, more drawn out Brutus' moans seem to get. Midas' chewing does not break through the glove; it turns Brutus on. His loopy grin widens as Midas bites. _Of course_ , the man got a masochistic streak in him. He did get off to being stepped on after all. The reversal of power did not rewire him in that regard. 

Usually, hurting someone and seeing them getting aroused from the treatment would satisfy him aplenty. As it is, it just adds more to his frustration. It doesn't feel like he is doling out punishment. Rather, he is being used for Brutus' pleasure. Like his struggles only egg him on. Everything he does, he plays into Brutus' hand. Quite literally in this scenario. Even when he stops biting, he realizes that his lips are now wrapped around Brutus' thumb. How convenient.

"Are you going to behave now?" Brutus asks, a little out of breath. His cheekbones are flushed pink underneath the sunglasses' rim.

Midas nods, with a modicum of reluctance.

"That's a good boy," Brutus praises him again. Neither of them misses the way Midas shivers. "Now, take off my glove."

This time, when Midas decides to _actually_ give this 'being a good boy' thing a try, Brutus slaps his hand away. It should hurt Brutus more than it hurts him, since he is the one slapping his hand against solid gold. Yet it's Midas who gasps out loud, embarrassed. He feels genuinely.. _chastised._ Like a boy being scolded for misbehaving. Which he supposes he is, in a way.

"Since you like biting so much, you can use your mouth," Brutus orders.

Well then.

It's easier said than done, really. It's a struggle to sink his teeth into the glove _without_ biting Brutus in the process. The disposable gloves he wears are tough, and skin-tight. They cling to his fingers and palm like a second skin. At least Brutus allows him to touch his wrist, flipping his hand around to find purchase. Little growls and moans could be heard from him whenever Midas' teeth scrape against his skin. When his fangs bite into the soft spot of his wrist where the gloves fail to cover. It must be a pathetic sight, The Mastermind of The Agency, kneeling on the floor, drooling into his subordinate's hand. Maybe that's the point. Brutus wants to see him like this, without the calm and collected composure he usually possesses. And he.. well..

He might like it, too. He doesn't want to admit it and he is _not_ going to, but it feels good. It feels incredible. He is moaning into it, panting, chewing and biting, enthusiastic with following Brutus' order to completion. Not for any reward since none was promised, but for the satisfaction of completion alone and for being.. good. He could be good. He wants to behave. It took him a while to fall into this state of mind, but now that he has sunk into it, it's the only thing he wants. The only thing he could focus on as the white-hot arousal enveloped his senses (and his better judgement.)

When he finally _, oh, oh finally,_ takes Brutus' glove off, Midas is flooded with an indescribable sense of pride that leaves him light-headed. He is reeling from it as his chest swells, his heart rates pick up, and all he could hear is blood rushing in his ears. He keeps the glove in his mouth between his teeth, awaiting further commands.

Brutus touches his face again with his hand now bare. Midas feels feverish, neither from what he just did or from being touched. It's Brutus. His body heat is being absorbed directly into him, at a faster rate than real gold would conduct heat. It leaves his fingertips icy-cold, and Midas hot all over. The contrast, and the drastic temperature change, feel so _, so_ good. Midas would moan, but the glove in his mouth effectively functions as a gag, and he _really_ doesn't want to let it fall off. 

Brutus exhales, "You can let go now."

Midas does so. He opens his mouth, letting the glove fall to the floor. Somewhere in his mind, he realizes how dumbfounded he must look with his mouth agape like this. Though that part of him is suppressed by the anticipation of what comes next.

He does not have to wait long. Brutus presents his hand to him again. "Lick."

It's different with his glove out of the way. Midas could feel the callus of his palm, his rough fingertips. The taste of sweat, skin, and the heat.. it's making his head spin. Midas moves with deliberation. Slow, kitten-licks from one finger to the next, and of course, the crevices in between. Following the lines on his palm to the pulse on his wrist. It's filthy in the best way possible.

Satisfied, Brutus inserts one – no, _two_ , this time – fingers into his mouth.

"Suck."

Midas _tries._ Wrapping his lips around one thumb was relatively easy, but it's a struggle with two fingers. Brutus' hands are large, his fingers thick, and he doesn't give Midas a lot of time to adjust. Once he starts sucking, Brutus is now fucking his mouth in earnest. Rubbing against the roof of his mouth, pushing in deep, and then _deeper_ , as if he is trying to remove Midas' gag reflex. So far he is not succeeding, considering how much Midas is choking. Drool escapes from the corner of his mouth along with the tears running down his cheeks, slick and shiny against gold. He couldn't breathe, not really, but there is more pleasure to it than pain. The asphyxiation, as terrifying as it is with each passing second, is doing wonderful things to his body. He likes being choked like this, and being _used_.

After who-knows-how-much time has passed, Brutus finally removes his fingers from his mouth. Now free, Midas takes in a deep breath. He thought he was going to pass out. His vision is darkening around the edges..

"What were you trying to say?" Brutus asks. "Tell me."

"I.. uh," Midas squeezes his eyes shut. "I'm.. I'm so hard."

Brutus laughs out loud. It must be amusing to hear his boss so desperate. "Yeah, I noticed."

"It doesn't go away when I'm.. like this." He could almost hear the gears in Brutus' head turning, registering this piece of information for the future. "I need to.."

"You want to come?"

Midas nods.

A finger nudges under his chin, pushes it up high. "Look at me and say it."

Midas cracks his eyelids open a little. His throat feels awful, parched and rubbed sore. "I want to..come."

Brutus sighs, "Not convincing."

"I need to come! Please!" Fuck it. Fuck it all. He could cry about his wounded pride later _after_ he gets off. "I can't take it anymore. Brutus, please!

A momentary, agonizing pause.

"Alright," Brutus says. "As you wish, _sir._ "

Then he feels something hard and solid pushes against his crotch. It's Brutus' foot. He pushes Midas' knees apart, forcing him to spread until he can push his leg between his thighs. At first, Midas thought Brutus was going to take revenge by stepping on him, but when he inserts his steel-toed shoe _underneath_ Midas, making it so that his crotch would press against the front of his leg – Midas immediately gets the hint.

Then Brutus confirms it, "You come like this or you don't get to come at all."

Is he _that_ desperate? Could he really do it.. humping against Brutus' leg like a dog?

Yes. Yes, he could.

He angled his hips up, held on Brutus' leg for purchase and just.. humped. It's the most humiliating he has ever done, and he has been through _a lot._ He committed a long list of morally dubious, downright disgusting acts to get to where he is today. Yet nothing was as shameful and filthy as humping his bodyguard's leg. He is so turned on that he couldn't think of anything else _but_ getting off. A direct stimulation like this, even with layers of clothes in the way, would've gotten him off. In this state however, Midas is stuck in an uncomfortable spot where he is hyper-sensitive to every touch, yet it's not enough for him to come. He doesn't even feel the friction against his cock, despite how hard he is rutting. Fuck. Fuck fuck _fuck._

"You look good like this," Brutus whispers. "Desperate and shameless. So pretty."

Hearing him moan at that, Brutus chuckles. "That's what turns you on? Someone telling you how good you are, how pretty you look?”

Maybe. Possibly. Would that be so bad? As a successful, self-confident man, Midas doesn’t make a habit out of relying on external validation. And when he does receive them, it’s always directed at his accomplishments, such as his criminal empire or his master plan. It has never been something so… _shallow_ , so self-indulgent the way Brutus is praising him right now.

“Yeah, just like that, pretty boy.” Brutus’ voice is low, husky. “Come.”

That does it.

He never came so hard in his life, especially when his power is activated. He is going to regret this later, when he calms down and his senses return to remind him that he _just_ came in his pants. Like a virgin. As he’s mocked Brutus before. At the end, the bodyguard does get his revenge. Though that’s the problem for him in the future. Right now, all he could do is ride the most intense waves of orgasms he has ever experienced. His back arches, rubbing his crotch into Brutus’ leg until the sensation becomes too much. Moans spilling out of his mouth as his eyes cross. Overstimulated and exhausted, he slumps onto the floor, still trembling like a leaf. His skin, no longer gold, now flushes red with fading post-orgasmic arousal.

“...Are you okay, sir?” Brutus ask with genuine concern. Not so demanding anymore now that he wore Midas out.

“I’m fine,” Midas answers, breathless.

“Do you need help getting up?”

“Just.. give me a second.”

Brutus’ swallows. “Very well.”

It takes him a moment to gather himself, but when he does the first thing he says is : “We’re even now, right?”

For a while, Brutus doesn’t reply. Then he smiles.

“Yes, sir. We are.”

Alright then. All's well that ends well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was fun to write lol
> 
> I'm marking the story as 'finished' for now, because it feels like a good place to end on. Though I do still feel like returning to the story (and the ship), maybe turning it into a series of some kind. Let me know if you want more or if you have any ideas you wanna suggest.
> 
> Finally got some time to play Fortnite lately and got Midas! The intro doesn't wreck my headcanons as I thought. I actually really liked it. I think of my stories as the pre-canon before things go to shit, so to speak. It gives you a sense of dread (in a fun way) to think wtf happend to The Agency that they went from Criminal Family Fun Time to Midas' Head Hunting Collection. 
> 
> Another thing I notice is that he has no ass. Well, maybe VERY little ass, I guess. He's ALLL legs, but his pants are tight enough that at a certain angle it gives off the illusion of an ass. It's as bad as Agent "What the fuck are legs days" Brutus. 
> 
> Alright, I'm going to stop rambling now. Thank you for reading and for sticking with me to the end! I really appreciate your kind comments, y'all flatter me too much really lmao.
> 
> edit: i stand corrected. ive been informed that he DOES have ass but i played on the switch and he is assless there. midas stans please do not arson me

**Author's Note:**

> Kinda wanna write a continuation but idk if midas should continue to bully him or brutus should get his revenge lol


End file.
